Merry and Bright

Chapter Nine #3

“You okay?” he asked. “You look worried.”

I shook my head and focused. “Sorry. I . . . get in my head.”

“Hey,” he said. “If overthinking was a contest, I’d have you beat.”

That made me smile. “Highly unlikely, but I’ll concede defeat if it would make you feel better.”

He laughed. “Yes. Yes, it would.” Then he brushed snow off his beanie. “Come on, I need to get these boys home and into their bed by the heater. And it’s dinnertime for me.”

“You haven’t eaten yet?” Then I realized, of course he wouldn’t have. He was at work until just now.

“We knew we’d be home late tonight, so Ro made some stew in the slow cooker earlier,” he said as we neared his car. “Or there’s leftover pizza. I’m so hungry I could eat both.”

Hmm. I didn’t like that he was so hungry.

He unlocked his vehicle, and we got in. He started the car and cranked up the heat. “Are you comfortable?” he asked.

I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, but I wasn’t uncomfortable in any way. “Yes.”

He chuckled, then unzipped his jacket a little. “You boys comfortable?”

One of them squeaked out a meow in response, and Winter laughed and did the zip back up.

He looked at me, a picture of happiness.

“I know I should probably take them out when I drive, but it’s cold and they’re still so little.

” He carefully buckled up his seatbelt. “Okay, so which way is home for you?”

I gave him directions and was very relieved that he was such a careful driver. I was more than comfortable to be in a car with him, to be around him.

I liked him more tonight than I did even earlier today.

We didn’t speak in the car, apart from my giving directions, and while I rather liked the silence, I knew a lot of people didn’t. It made things awkward for them.

“Are you comfortable?” I asked him.

He looked from the road to me, still smiling. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

“Because you asked me. I thought I should perhaps return the question. I wasn’t sure if you were referring to the seat, or the temperature inside your car, or if I was comfortable with you.”

His smile became a grin. “Well, all three, I guess.” Then his smile faded. “Does it change your answer?”

“No, not at all.”

The grin was back. “Well, good.”

“I’m not very good at small talk,” I admitted.

“Me either. Small talk, meeting new people, that kind of thing.”

“Some people can’t deal with silence. I happen to like it.”

“Oh my god, me too,” he said. “And I have peopled so hard today. I’ve had my quota, well and truly. I shall be going home, eating all the food, and relishing in the peace and quiet. Decompress, ready to do it all again tomorrow.”

“You’re very good with people though,” I said. “Meeting them, being polite. Conversation, that kind of thing.”

“I’ve worked in retail since I was fifteen,” he explained. “So yes, while I can deal with people all day, I do find it taxing.”

“This is our gate coming up on your right,” I explained, and he slowed down carefully before applying the turn signal and turning into our driveway. “You should perhaps take food with you to work tomorrow so you can eat.”

“I should, yes. I was just so busy today. Maybe tomorrow it won’t be so hectic so I can sneak a few bites.”

“I can bring you something if you’d prefer,” I offered.

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.” He grinned at me. “I do appreciate the offer though.”

I wanted to ask him if he’d like to come for dinner one evening, as Mom had suggested, but I was too nervous to ask.

He pulled up in front of the house. Dad’s truck was in the garage and the porch light was on, as were lights inside, and I knew I had to get out of his car even though I wanted to stay with him for as long as possible.

“Thank you for the lift,” I said.

“You’re very welcome. I’m glad we had a chance to talk.”

Oh boy.

I was going to do this . . .

“I, uh . . .” I held my breath, my fists closed on my lap. “I would like to see you again. My mom said I should ask you over for dinner, because it is an appropriate thing to ask.”

I couldn’t believe I’d managed to say that . . .

“I’d like that,” he said. I looked at him then, just quickly, to find him smiling at me.

“I’m very busy this week though, so I don’t know when that will be possible.

Maybe for a few minutes on your lunch break, or if you’re on Main Street for anything, come and say hi.

I’m just not sure I’ll have time to leave the store, being my first week and all.

And then I have these two little gremlins in the evenings,” he said, rubbing his jacket.

“I can’t expect Ro to look after them. She already does enough. ”

I nodded, because that was a totally reasonable reply. Even if it felt like a rejection.

“I think it will all start to settle down soon though, and I’ll have a better routine,” he added. “Tell your mom I said thank you for the dinner invitation. Maybe next weekend? Or one night early next week when I have a quieter day and can finish at five.”

“So it’s not a no?”

“No,” he said with a laugh. “Definitely not. It’s a yes, but I’m not sure when.

I don’t want to commit and then have to cancel because I’m caught up at the store.

” Then his face softened a little. “I won’t ever be dishonest with you, Deacon.

If I didn’t want to see you again, I’d say no.

If I didn’t want to have dinner, I’d say no.

If I didn’t want to talk to you or spend a few extra minutes with you, I wouldn’t have suggested I drive you home. ”

I met his eyes then, felt my cheeks heat, and I nodded. “Thank you. I won’t ever be dishonest with you, either.”

“So we’ll text this week,” he said quietly. “And I’m fine with phone calls if you want. In the evenings. If you want to call. Totally fine if that’s not your thing. Sometimes it’s easier just to call than all that extra thumb work.” He grinned. “Totally up to you.”

The idea of texts and phone calls with Winter made my insides all jittery. “I’d like that.”

“Okay then. That sounds good.” He nodded to the house. “You should probably get inside before your parents worry that I’m holding you hostage out here.”

I laughed because that was ridiculous.

“I’ll text you,” I said. “Maybe I’ll call you if my thumbs aren’t up for all that extra work.”

His eyes went wide and he laughed. “Did you just mock me?” Then he pretended to text on an invisible phone. “It’s a lot of work and my thumbs get tired and repetitive strain injury is a common problem with Gen Z.”

His laughter made me genuinely happy, as if the sound struck a chord inside me. I wanted to hear it every day.

“Goodnight, Winter,” I said, my hand on the door handle. “Thank you again for driving me home.”

One of the kittens meowed from inside his jacket.

“Get them home and inside where it’s warm,” I said, still so reluctant to say goodbye.

“Pretty sure that was a call for supper,” he said. “But yes, I should get them home. Have a good night.”

I got out then, stepping into flurries of snow, and watched Winter drive back down the driveway, his brake lights and blinker transforming the falling snow into neon red and orange.

“Deacon,” Mom called out. I turned to find her at the front door. “Everything okay?”

I came up the porch, unable to keep from smiling. “Yes. Everything’s fine.”

She hurried me inside and helped me take my coat off, careful not to dump snow on the floor. “Boots off,” she said. “Your dad’s making hot chocolate.”

She gave me a smile as she disappeared into the kitchen. I knew they’d have questions, so I was prepared. I just had to stop smiling first.

While I really wanted to text Winter that night, I didn’t. I told myself one text the following day would be sufficient. I didn’t want to overdo it, or annoy him while he was at work, so I left it until the afternoon.

I hope your second day is as busy as the first.

He replied fourteen minutes later.

Very busy but great. I’ll be here a while yet. How was your day?

My day was good. We had clinic rounds in the morning to check on the animals staying overnight, but Sundays are generally quiet. I do a lot of cleaning on Sundays. Mom and I decorated the Christmas tree this afternoon.

His next reply came through twelve minutes later.

Yay for the Christmas tree. That sounds delightful. But boo to all that cleaning

I smiled at the little frowny face.

Hope you remembered food today?

His reply didn’t come through for twenty-two minutes so I knew he must be busy.

I did, thank you. I learned my hungry lesson LOL

But then I had nothing else to specifically ask him, and no idea what to contribute, so after grimacing at my phone for a full three minutes, I settled for a closing statement.

“There is a certain slant of light, Winter afternoons”

I waited and waited for his reply but after twenty minutes, I assumed he was either super busy or perhaps he didn’t like the quote.

And watching my phone and waiting, imagining scenarios where he thought I was too much or not enough, or not right for him, did nothing but upset my tummy.

I was almost queasy and having trouble sitting still when my phone rang.

Not a text, but a phone call.

Winter’s name flashed on the screen, and I was so excited I almost dropped my phone.

“Hello?” I said. “This is Deacon Clark speaking.”

“Hello Deacon Clark, this is Winter Atkins,” he said cheerfully.

My heart rate took off and the butterflies in my tummy soared. “Hello. You said you’d text, not call.”

“Well, yes, but then you quoted Emily Dickinson and that warranted a phone call.”

“It did?”

“Oh yes. Very much. You see, if you quote poetry to me, then I will squeal, and Ro will shove me into the storeroom so I don’t scare the customers.”

He made me laugh. “Is that what happened?”

“Well, I’m calling you right now from the storeroom, so yes. It very much did.” He sighed. “That’s twice now, just so you know.”

“Twice you were shoved into the storeroom?”

He snorted. “No. Twice you’ve quoted poetry to me. I have to say, Deacon, if your intention was to impress me, you have done exactly that.”

“I actually didn’t do it with that intention. I was otherwise unsure of what to say. And your name is Winter, so I thought it was fitting.”

“When in doubt, poetry is your answer. Especially when you’re talking to me.”

“You liked it,” I said, smiling.

“Uh, loved it. So thank you. You made my very busy, very great day even better.”

“Very busy, very great day.”

“Yes. Apparently half the town who couldn’t make it to the grand opening yesterday decided today was the day. It’s been incredible.”

“I’m very glad to hear that.”

He sighed. “I should get back out there. But I’d like to see you,” he said quietly. “Later this week, if that suits you? I’m sure I can steal five or ten minutes of my day, perhaps at the same time as your lunch break one day?”

A rush of jitters bloomed in my chest; a new feeling, and one that I liked very much. “I’d like that.”

“Good. Let me know which day suits you and I’ll make sure Ro is here to hold the fort if I duck out to the diner or the café, or if you wanted to call into the store, that’d be fine too. My evenings run late, and then I have Merry and Bright . . .”

“It’s not so much if I want to, because I do want to, but this week is particularly busy. Tomorrow we have clinic rounds in the morning and livestock inspections in the afternoon,” I explained. “Tuesday and Wednesday will be much the same.”

“Livestock,” he said. “And there I was thinking you looked after dogs, cats, and ferrets.”

“And horses and alpacas, goats and pigs,” I added. “Birds, lizards, hermit crabs.”

He gasped. “Hermit crabs? How do you treat a sick hermit crab?”

“Depends. They can present with a multitude of symptoms. Usually from an inadequate environment, but not always. Lethargy, dry skin—”

“Dry skin?” He made a gagging noise, and then kind of yelled, “How do you even know when a crab has dry skin?”

I heard what sounded like Ro intervene in the background, as if she was admonishing him for yelling that out in the store.

“Uh, Deacon, I have to go,” he said quickly. “I’ll text you later, but we’ll aim for Thursday lunch, or coffee if work allows. Otherwise, I can possibly do dinner on Sunday night? If your mom’s offer still stands, that is.”

I was smiling again. “I’m sure it does.”

“Good. I’ll text you before then though, and you can text me. Just so you know, poetry quotes will not go unnoticed.”

My insides were being all jittery again. “Noted.”

His voice was soft and warm in my ear. “Bye, Deacon.”

“Goodnight, Winter.”

I went out to the living room to find Mom and Dad on the sofas watching some movie from the ’80s. “Oh, hey sweetheart,” Mom said. “Everything okay?”

I sat in my usual spot and tried to hold in some excitement, when what I wanted to do was scream into a cushion. “Yes, very. You offered for Winter to join us for dinner, so I asked him and he said yes. Next Sunday would suit, if that’s okay?”

They both watched me and Dad sat up straight, the movie forgotten. “A date?”

“Unclear on the technicalities, but I would believe so.” I licked my lips, still trying to rein in my excitement. “And also possibly Thursday lunchtime, though that needs to be confirmed. It depends on work, both his and mine.”

Dad’s eyes went wide and he grinned. “Two dates?”

I cleared my throat. “I quoted Emily Dickinson. The fact he knew who that was without having to google anything was quite surprising. But yes, technicalities aside, we discussed meeting twice this week.”

“Reciting poetry would have won me over too,” Mom said fondly. “Do you want to know where your father took me on our first date?”

“Where?”

“To watch a foal being born.”

“Emergency births are hardly planned that way,” Dad said. Then he smiled at Mom. “Anyway, it worked like a charm, did it not?”

She gave his hand a squeeze. “Yes, it did.”

“Well, I hope there are no emergencies next Sunday,” I said, making a face.

Oh good.

I had seven days to wait. Seven days to think up a hundred different equally awful scenarios.

Seven days of overthinking, seven days of anticipation and a belly full of butterflies.

I had to come up with something to distract myself . . . and I thought I knew of the perfect way.